


The Jealous Detective

by LadyGlinda



Series: Mylock-Tales (with supportive John Watson) [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Jealous Sherlock, Jealousy, M/M, Sibling Incest, Smut, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-04-30 18:10:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14502645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Mycroft is trying his best, but he gets caught up in his work once more. When Anthea goes on a longer holiday, Mycroft gets a new PA. Sherlock does not approve.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarletmanuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Sherlock snuggled his face against Mycroft's neck. He licked a stripe over the soft skin under Mycroft's ear and breathed him in, then he gently pulled at the delicate earlobe.

Mycroft chuckled. “Up to anything, Lock?”

They were lying on his bed, neither of them covered by the blanket. It was a warm summer evening, the window was open, the birds were singing their last songs for the day and Sherlock was horny as if he hadn't come for months. In fact it had only been about ten hours. Mycroft had come home rather early on this Monday (if six o'clock counted as early) but he had taken some work with him. They'd had dinner together and a nice talk and now Sherlock wanted to get tactile.

“Mmm. Put that away.”

“I told you I have to finish reading this first. Won't be long.” Mycroft kissed his forehead and pulled him close with the arm Sherlock had wrapped around his waist to be able to press his body against Mycroft's, but his eyes returned to his tablet again at once.

Sherlock stroked over his thigh. “But I want you. Now.” He was hard and he could feel that his pants were getting damp. He craved for being buried in his brother. Bending him over, impaling him on his dick… He sighed when Mycroft's phone vibrated.

“Great…” He let his head fall onto Mycroft's chest.

“Sorry, darling. Chris has a question.”

“Who the fuck is Chris?”

“My new PA. For the next month. Anthea is on holiday; I told you. A long cruise. It's Chris' first day so of course things don't go that smoothly.” He typed away on his phone.

Sherlock had obviously deleted this information. He grunted. “How can your PA be still at work when you are at home?”

“Trying to do the job perfectly I guess.”

“Yeah. I forgot – people fear the Iceman.”

“Yep. It's good to keep your minions afraid of you.”

Sherlock kissed his throat. “Okay, but now you must be finished, right?”

“Oh, my impatient little sweetheart. No.”

“I could fuck you while you're reading! You can as well read with your head down!”

Mycroft shook his head with a grin. “It's amazing how crazy you are still for me; don't think I wasn't feeling flattered. But you may remember I'm a middle-aged man with a rather important job. I need to get this done before we can start playing and since I won't be able to play more than once tonight, you can as well wait a little more.”

“Yeah, the job comes first,” Sherlock grumbled and sighed when Mycroft's phone signalised another text. “Chris again?” He hated this woman already. Anthea never disturbed their sex life… Not that they had been having sex but Mycroft would finish his damn report a lot sooner without being interrupted by his bloody PA all the time. Or Sherlock's nagging and attempts at seducing him; he gave her that…

“Yes, sorry. It will be the last time.” But Mycroft smiled at the display as if _Chris_ had written something funny.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Chris is short for Christine then?”

“Sorry? Oh, no. Christopher actually.”

He didn’t like to hear that. Not at all. But then - a male PA? Probably some scrawny, weak little guy who loved to stitch and whose biggest concern in life was to get the tea and coffee right for his boss… “How does he look?”

“Hm? Oh… He's blond, lighter than John. A few inches taller than me and he obviously likes to work out besides the usual agent training.” Mycroft had finished texting back and looked at the report again; his voice sounded distracted.

So not quite just a PA… He had never asked or even thought about if Anthea was actually an agent, too. Considering her cockiness, probably yes…

And now there was a muscular, blond giant in Mycroft's secretary's office...

Somehow his desire had disappeared. He freed himself from Mycroft's embrace and got up.

“Hey, where are you going? I'll be finished in two minutes!”

“Need a cigarette.” He grabbed the case and the lighter and stalked out of the room. He would go into the garden, sit down on one of the uncomfortable chairs and smoke; he never smoked inside the house.

His mood had darkened even though he knew it was silly.

They'd been together for over a year now and he knew Mycroft loved him and nobody else. And still – Mycroft would spend more time with this damn Chris than with him for the next few weeks… And of course this was just part of the problem. All those hours Mycroft spent at work and when he came home he still had work to do. Even the weekend had been disturbed by Mycroft having to meet the PM. They did spend time with each other but with Sherlock's crazy work times due to cases and Mycroft's duties, it was way less than Sherlock liked. He knew Mycroft tried to avoid being caught up like this but there were still long phases where he simply didn’t have a choice.

He had crossed the house and stepped outside. It was getting dark already. He sat down and lit the cigarette, leaning his head back against the chair and smoked. The garden was secluded and there were no direct neighbours. It was a peaceful, beautiful place. But somehow Sherlock felt pretty lost. What was Mycroft doing now? Chatting with Chris? But then his lover came outside, dressed in a robe.

“Hey,” he softly said.

“Ditto.”

“I'm finished.”

Sherlock nodded. “Want one?” He offered his brother a cigarette as well.

Mycroft shook his head. “I stopped.”

“Ah, you never really started.”

“True. See, Lock, you know I can't just drop my job when I leave the office.”

“I know.” It wasn’t the first time they were talking about that after all…

“It's not as if you didn’t have to leave sometimes…”

“I know.” It did happen but very rarely. And if they were having sex, not even a _twenty_ -case could lure Sherlock away from his brother.

Mycroft kneeled down next to the chair, laying his hands on Sherlock's arm. “Don't be mad at me, honey. I hope there's still something left of your desire?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Deep inside, maybe.” He wouldn’t tell Mycroft that he was jealous of this man he had never seen. Mycroft seemed to not have understood it and it was ridiculous after all… He didn’t know anything about Chris. Perhaps he was totally straight with five girlfriends or even had a family. He didn’t want to ask his brother. But somehow he felt that this stranger would be a threat for their love. He also knew that if he told Mycroft this, he would only raise his eyebrows and joke about _premonitions._..

Mycroft got up and held out his hand. “Come. Let's go back to bed and you can do with me whatever you want.”

“Really? You know there is an experiment I always wanted to try out but I never found a volunteer…”

Mycroft chuckled. “Okay, not quite whatever you want.”

“Spoilsport.” Sherlock was feeling better already. And his dick brought himself to memory when he looked at Mycroft's tall, slim figure, barely covered by the robe. “Let's stick to sex then.”

“Sex sounds very good.”

*****

Mycroft looked tired, Sherlock realised when they got back onto the bed after Mycroft had slipped out of his robe and his pants. It was only Monday and he was exhausted. His eyes were red and his face paler than it should be. Sherlock bit his lip. He didn’t want to reprimand his brother; Mycroft knew he was working too hard. He was trying his best but obviously he couldn’t do much about being eaten up by his job…

"On your stomach," he said.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "So polite, brother mine?"

Sherlock grinned and then he pushed him over and worked a pillow under his groin so he was nicely spread out for him.

"Oh, in this case..." Mycroft mumbled. He thoroughly enjoyed having his arse eaten, and Sherlock loved to do it so that was exactly what he was going to do now. Make his brother relax – well, in a way because of course it was also meant to arouse him and it never failed to do that. But Mycroft didn't have to move in this position and was just allowed to enjoy.

He took a moment to admire the view – Mycroft's rosy cheeks slightly spread, revealing a dark, wrinkled entrance that cried to be licked. Without any further hesitation, Sherlock grabbed the firm half-moons and nuzzled his face into the crack, darting out his tongue that immediately found a salty piece of skin. He let it circle around the pleasure-door which drew a nice moan from his brother. Sherlock just hoped he had switched off his phone because the last thing he wanted now was to hear it buzz with another _oh-so-important_ message from bloody _Chris_...

Eager to forget this faceless phantom of a tea-serving gatekeeper, he sucked the skin around his brother's hole into his mouth just to roughly work the tip of his tongue into the ring of muscles. Mycroft swore into the pillows and Sherlock doubled his efforts, tasting his lover as intimately as possible. In the silent room – well, silent except for Mycroft's panting and moaning and hissing words their mother should better not hear – the slurping noises that he made sounded deliciously perverse. His cock, hard and throbbing, was pushing and leaking into the linen and Sherlock wished he had another hand to rub himself as thoroughly as he was licking his brother. But of course this was just the foreplay – he wanted more. Eventually he added a finger and pushed it in and out rhythmically while still devouring his brother's entrance to satisfaction with his tongue.

When he was certain that Mycroft was prepared to take him, Sherlock lifted his head and grabbed the lube from the nightstand. "Ginger-raspberry? Where did you get this exotic fuck-helper from?"

Mycroft grumbled something that sounded like _internet_ and _don't waste your time with talking now_ , and with a grin Sherlock coated himself with the strange-smelling fluid and let a generous amount dribble into Mycroft's nicely open hole.

Then he lined himself up behind him, grabbing the reddened cheeks once more, and let his swollen, dark-pink knob ask for entrance.

"Knock, knock," he mumbled and Mycroft giggled into the pillow.

"Who's there?" came the muffled question.

"Someone who can't wait to fuck you through the mattress and back," Sherlock groaned before finally pushing inside.

*****

If there was a better feeling than having his arse filled by his brother's big dick, Mycroft hadn't experienced it. In fact he was sure there wasn't anything better than this. Sherlock wasn’t exactly tender right now; his hands grabbing his buttocks hard, his dick sliding half-way in at once but Mycroft loved it. Deep inside he was still amazed that his brother, this beautiful, gorgeous, breathtaking man, had chosen him above all people to be intimate with. He couldn’t see him now of course but he knew how he would look, naked and aroused, his cheeks reddened, his eyes focused on the spot where they were connected, his cheekbones sticking out when he harshly breathed in, the muscles in his thighs and his stomach and not to forget his arse working while he started working Mycroft over now.

He rocked his hips roughly and Mycroft moaned deep in his throat. He loved to top his brother but bottoming for him was even more exciting for him; something he had never thought possible before. It was an incredible feeling to give up control like this, to be literally at Sherlock's hands (and cock) and know that it made his lover feel truly good. He groaned when Sherlock stroked over the small band of skin that was stretched around his brother's dick; it made him get even harder than he had already been.

Strangely enough he never came while getting taken by his brother. When Sherlock pushed against his prostate, it felt awesome but he needed direct penis-stimulation to climax. Perhaps a question of age? Sherlock always shot his load into the pillows or all over him when he was on bottom. But there was no need to fret his head about it – Sherlock loved to make him come with his mouth after releasing himself into him. A bottle of pineapple juice was always standing on his desk these days and his taste had improved considerably – he didn’t only have Sherlock's opinion for that as he frequently tasted himself on his tongue afterwards when they kissed for minutes after their encounters. The juice made his mouth feel awkward sometimes but it was definitely worth it – he wanted to please Sherlock in every way.

And he didn’t like to feel as if he was neglecting him. Unfortunately, the chores of his position didn’t allow him to spend as much time with him as he wanted to even though after their handcuff-play the year before he had been trying hard. He'd had a talk with his colleagues and the PM about needing more time for himself but it wasn’t exactly easy to really make it happen.

And since he was still the _British Government_ as Sherlock called him, he needed to keep a clear head and enjoy their together-time once he was finished with his duties; otherwise he wouldn’t be able to fulfil them, and this couldn’t happen. He knew that a lot of the safety of the kingdom was depending on him and his abilities to foresee threats.

And still – if his forbidden relationship with his brother was discovered and he had to choose between his long-term devotion to his country or Sherlock, he wouldn't hesitate a single moment and take Sherlock's hand and run. It had taken him very long to realise that his little brother meant more to him than society allowed, but the romantic and sexual love he felt for him now had been there before, deeply hidden under self-denial and lack of self-awareness, and it had merged seamlessly with the love he had always had for him. Sherlock was more than his lover, more than his brother – he was all and everything and altogether he was the one person he could never be without. Giving up what they had now would destroy everything and make him lose Sherlock completely because he knew his so tough but so vulnerable little brother would never forgive him, and this simply couldn’t happen. And hell – he wouldn't want to miss out on what they had and he definitely wouldn’t.

He wondered why he was thinking about this delightful subject again and right now – while he was feeling like being in heaven as Sherlock pounded into him, his breathing fast and loud. But somehow he was deep inside afraid it could all blow up. They'd had so much luck with John Watson being so supportive and Greg Lestrade being willing to look the other way – they couldn’t be sure of anyone else reacting like this. And Sherlock had proven already how far he was ready to go to protect their love but he couldn’t just _kill_ everybody who threatened to harm them…

But whatever happened – Mycroft would never allow anything or anyone to part them. He had given this promise to Sherlock and he would keep it by any means.

“What are you thinking of?” Sherlock hissed now, his movements speeding up even more, his hands digging into Mycroft's hips even harder than before.

“Nothing, brother mine, just enjoying you,” Mycroft soothed him, not willing to spoil this moment with his stupid fears – they would never be in this situation again. They would make it work as they were the smart ones.

Sherlock made a strange noise and then he thrusted even deeper and half a minute later he cried out and Mycroft could feel his warm semen splashing into him. It took Sherlock a moment to disentangle from him but then Mycroft was gently turned around and a moment later warm lips wrapped around his achingly hard member and a teasing, hot tongue started to tickle his slit.

They had done this countless times and still Mycroft couldn’t get over how wonderful it felt and how his brother looked when he was doing this: these plush, uniquely formed lips forming a ring around his cock, his cheekbones sharp edges, framing him while Sherlock was letting him slide in and out of his mouth, sucking him greedily, his eyes trying to make contact or being simply closed in enjoyment. Mycroft cupped his head, fondling his curls and it didn’t take him long to fall over the edge and fill his brother's mouth with his seed.

He urged Sherlock to come up to him as soon as his brain cells started working again, and he chased his own taste in his man's mouth, content about the flavour, happy to the core about being allowed to experience it – this love, this closeness, this passion.

“I love you, My,” Sherlock mumbled and Mycroft curled his arms even closer around him.

“I love you, too, Lock. You're simply amazing.”

Sherlock gave him a smile, and then he managed to wrap them into the blanket for a healthy, post-coital nap.


	2. Chapter 2

"Sorry, sir, just reminding you of your appointment with Lord Lancaster."

Mycroft had winced at the deep voice. He had been working very concentrated on a report and had not heard his PA's steps even though they were quite heavy. He rubbed his eyes. "Thank you, Chris."

"Would you like some coffee before?"

"No, thanks. I guess I'll be wired enough by the company."

Chris grinned, and Mycroft grinned back. Even though he didn't exactly feel like grinning these days.

First there was the massive amount of work lately. The new American president was about to shake hands on London's ground with the PM, and the preparations for the safety of this meeting had been a nightmare. Everybody on earth hated the president, including Mycroft, and it wouldn't be overly unexpected if someone made an attempt at shooting him. Not that Mycroft would have mourned the loss but he didn't want this to happen under his surveillance... He had briefed the secret service agents thoroughly, and they had worked themselves into the ground. So had he.

Which led to the second problem, the way bigger one. Sherlock.

Of course his brother-lover was not amused in the least to be neglected even more than before. For several weeks now Mycroft had come home very late, and on too many days their only way to be in contact had been over the phone.

He had tried to make up for his absence by buying him gifts and making surprise visits in Baker Street or trying to stay up great parts of the night making love in his house. More than once he had just fallen asleep after coming and not woken up until his alarm went off.

And Sherlock didn't even complain anymore. He had fallen silent in a way that Mycroft had learned to fear. The thought that he might lose Sherlock over this made his insides cramp. Only two more weeks... Then this nightmare of a visit would have happened. Until the next challenge popped up... He was really trying hard to not let his work get him but he knew he did a crappy job...

"Shall I provide you with some juice then?" Chris asked, pointing at the bottle with pineapple juice.

"Yes, please," Mycroft said even though the taste of his sperm didn't matter now. He wouldn't meet Sherlock today. His brother had just texted him he would be tied up with a case. Which might be true or not...

Chris smiled when he handed him the glass. He was the only bright spot right now, and Mycroft was very relieved that he hadn't gotten an idiot as Anthea's substitute. She should have been back a long time ago but then her mother had become seriously ill and she had asked for a longer holiday. Since Chris was a perfect PA, Mycroft didn't mind that. Chris had long stopped sending him texts after he had left the office; he'd learned his job within a very short time.

"I've prepared the agenda," the tall blond said now. "Three printouts are sufficient?"

"Yes, perfect, thank you."

"Oh, and did you see the email I've forwarded from the Foreign Minister?"

"No, actually I didn't."

Chris joined him behind the desk, looking at his screen. "I sent it an hour ago. There it is..."

A knock at the open door let them both startle. Mycroft looked over and opened his eyes widely. Sherlock was standing in the doorframe. And he didn't look happy at all.

"Brother," he rumbled, his eyes narrowed.

"Sherlock! What a pleasant surprise." Mycroft tried not to show how happy and at the same time strangely frightened he was to see his man. "Come in."

"Um, you'd better be leaving in about ten minutes, sir," Chris threw in.

"I'm sure my brother is able to use his watch," Sherlock said in a tone that was icy to say the least.

Chris cringed next to Mycroft. "Of course. Nice to meet you, sir. I've heard a lot about you."

"I'm sure you have," Sherlock retorted and crossed his arms.

Mycroft looked from one man to the other. "I'll be in time," he said to Chris and the large PA nodded with a shy smile and then left the office. As Sherlock didn't move, he had to uncomfortably squeeze his muscular frame past him, hitting him in the shoulder, and he even apologised for it, which Sherlock completely ignored. When Chris had managed to leave the room, Sherlock shut the door behind him roughly.

"Sorry to disturb you," he said and there was something in his eyes that Mycroft didn't like at all.

And finally he got something he should have realised months before – Sherlock was jealous of his time with Chris! Sometimes he was really slow... "Come here," he said, getting up from his chair.

"You're sure? I thought I'd drop by and say hi as Lestrade will need me later as I've told you but it doesn't seem to be convenient."

"Come here, Lock," Mycroft said as calmly as he could.

And a few seconds later, he met Sherlock halfway and pulled him in a tight embrace. "You're an idiot," he mumbled into his ear.

Sherlock stiffened and then slumped down in his hug. "Am I?" he whispered, sounding rather miserable. His strong arms were tightly wrapped around Mycroft's midst, certainly crumpling his suit, but the politician couldn't have cared less.

"Darling, Chris is my PA, and a very good one, but that's all. And it's all he'll ever be!"

The younger man pulled back and eyed him closely. "He looks like a fucking god! A _gay_ god to be precise!"

"Well, he may or may not but I'm already sharing my life with the god of smartness and brattishness and he doesn't stand a chance against him."

Sherlock snorted, but his eyes had brightened up. "I'm not a brat."

"Yes you are. But that's one of the few million reasons I love you so much."

"I love you, too. And I bloody miss you..."

"So do I, believe me, sweetheart." Mycroft didn't use pet names that generously normally but he knew it was the time to do it now. He may have been pathetically slow in getting what was really bothering Sherlock but he wasn't a total idiot when it came to feelings anymore. "Two more weeks, and then this damn president will fly off to the USA again and you'll have me back." And somehow he didn't even really care anymore if he would enter the plane on his feet or by lying in a coffin...

Sherlock nodded. "I know but... It's harder than I thought. You remember that John told me in the very beginning I should accept your job and your work times but damn, it's a pain in the arse."

Mycroft stroked over his hair. "I know, I really do. But I'm afraid it is what it is."

"I've always hated that sentence," Sherlock mumbled. "Do you think Barbie man has noticed anything?"

Mycroft winced. He hadn't even considered that. "I hope he didn't. You know he's blond but he's far from being stupid." He couldn't quite keep the exasperation, born of fear, from his voice. "Better not throw a jealous tantrum again, brother mine."

Sherlock bit his lip. "Yeah, sorry. I'll leave then so you can go wherever your glorious presence is required and before he comes back and drags you out by your ear."

Mycroft winced again. "Lock, I wish you would not be like this."

"How? Trying to make our relationship work? Or simply being an idiot?"

Mycroft closed his eyes. "You know I didn't mean that! But sometimes..." He broke off but it was too late of course.

Sherlock nodded. "Right. Bye then. I'm sure I'll see you sometime..." He turned to leave.

"Well, it's actually _you_ who doesn't have time tonight," Mycroft burst out and then immediately bit his lip really hard. What had he just thought about not being a total idiot himself?!

Sherlock stopped. "Because you would have been home early to generously spend some hours of your precious time with me?" he retorted through gritted teeth. "As if! And I'm sorry that _I_ have to work late for a change." He stalked towards the door. "But your job is of course way more important than mine. Or me..." With this he opened the door as roughly as he had closed it before and stormed out.

Mycroft was standing in the middle of the room with his mouth open. How the fuck had this happened now? And how was he supposed to get these tears from his eyes before...

Too late… Chris appeared in the doorframe, so tall and wide he hardly fit in. "Sir, you... Are you alright? Can I help you in any way?"

 _Just strike me with lightning_ , Mycroft thought. He shook his head. "No, thank you. I'll go now." _Even though I have no idea how to be the Iceman now and how the hell I'm supposed to get this right again._


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh, this is him! Sherlock Holmes!” the elderly woman said reverently.

John Watson just glanced at Sherlock's face and took her by the shoulder. “You know what – this isn’t a good time now. We'll be in touch and let you know if we can take your case.”

“But why…”

“Goodbye for now, Mrs Hamilton. I've got your number.”

“But…”

John more or less shoved her out of the flat. Sherlock watched it as if it was happening far away from him. His heart felt completely numb. He couldn’t even recall having walked the way from Whitehall to Baker Street but obviously he had done it. His phone had buzzed a few times before he had switched it off without looking.

Now he was just standing in the corridor, unable to move as if his feet were made of stone all at once.

When the doctor had gotten rid of the wannabe client, he grabbed Sherlock's arm. “Living room. Couch. You'll sit down, I'll make tea and then you are going to tell me why Mycroft just texted me if you were here and didn’t answer when I said no and asked him why and why you look completely shocked.”

Sherlock just nodded. The last thing he wanted now was talk but even in his dazed condition he knew John wouldn’t let him get away with it. With heavy steps he slowly walked into his living room and let himself drop onto the couch. He didn’t even know how he was feeling. Sore, yes. Devastated, definitely. Hopeless, oh yeah. But it was more. He felt like he was dying inside.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when the doctor popped up before him. “Tea is ready.” He put a cup in front of him and sat down next to Sherlock. “But before we talk…” John took out his phone.

“No. Don't text him.”

John shot him a pointed look. “Greg? Yeah. Sorry, we can't help you with the observation tonight.” He held the phone a little further away from his ear. “We just can't. Take Donovan… Yeah… If you find the suspect, Sherlock will have a look at him tomorrow. But now it's out of the question. Bye.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Sherlock protested but it sounded weak even to his own ears. Which sort of help should he be for the Met today?

“Listen, I was surprised from the start that you agreed doing that. It's not our division and it's barely a _four_. But do you want to know what I think?”

“Do I have a choice?” He took a sip of the tea.

John ignored the petulant question. “I think you did it to punish Mycroft. He doesn't have a lot of time for you so you decided you do something else in the time he probably would have had. I told you from the start, Sherlock – you need to accept all of him, and his damn job is a very big part of him as you very well know.”

“It's not just his job!” Sherlock blurted. “It's this fucking guy!”

“What? Which guy? You mean his interim PA? Are you kidding me?”

“I finally met him today, John! He looks like bloody Mister Universe! He could model for any fucking fashion brand; he's totally _wasted_ as a fucking PA!” He vaguely thought that he had gotten a pretty foul mouth lately… Sod it… He definitely felt like swearing…

“Wait a minute… Are you saying Mycroft is cheating on you with this guy?!”

“No, I mean… But Chris wants it to happen!”

“Alright, I give you that you can deduce that. Piece of cake for you. But that doesn't mean that Mycroft would ever do it! He loves you like crazy, forgot that?!”

Sherlock sighed. “He spends way more time with him than with me. They looked so great together. And he wouldn’t have to hide _this_ relationship…”

“Listen, Sherlock, I don't believe it. Nope. No way. Mycroft has chosen you because you are the only one for him. No matter how pretty this man is. You are the one he wants.”

“He said I was an idiot…”

“Well, I've told you the same plenty of times! And we're still best friends!”

“That's not the same!” And then finally Sherlock felt his eyes flowing over. “I can't lose him, John. I can't live without him. But I feel we're drifting apart and then there's someone just waiting for that to happen to lend him a very big shoulder to cry on…”

John pulled him close and after a moment of struggling, Sherlock laid his head on his shoulder. “You big fool. He loves you and only you. You knew it wouldn’t be easy for him to make time.”

“His job will always be more important than me.”

“No, Sherlock. It isn't. I've seen you two together so many times already. He loves you more than anything else. But as stupid as it sounds – this country needs him, the British Government. He has done this job for so long – it has merged with him. He wants it to be done perfectly, hell, he's like you in this way! You can't blame him for that!”

“I get that, John. But… What if I lose him to this man?” Sherlock whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“You will rather lose him because you put so much pressure on him.”

“Ah, fuck you, John!” Sherlock pulled free from his embrace. “The voice of reason, yeah! It doesn't work for me!”

John took a deep breath. “I get it that you are totally inexperienced in this relationship stuff. But believe me – this will…”

“I don't want to hear it.” And with this Sherlock got up and stalked out of the living room and more or less ran into his bedroom and locked the door behind him. He wanted to be alone and he didn’t want to be reprimanded. John just didn’t understand.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft's pulse was way too fast when he rang the doorbell. All the drive here he had felt like throwing up.

He wasn’t surprised but still disappointed that it wasn't Sherlock who opened up the door of 221b.

“Mycroft. Come in.”

“Thanks, John. He's still here?”

“Yep. Hasn't left since he's stumbled in here two hours ago.” John had texted Mycroft that Sherlock had made it home in one piece but was in a very bad mood.

Mycroft had not had a chance to come earlier and he had already kept his meeting as short as possible and then called it a night.

“Did he tell you why he's so upset?”

“Yes. You're not really sleeping with this guy, are you?”

Mycroft was devastated. “What?! Of course not! Don't tell me he thinks that!”

John gave him a short smile. “Not quite but he thinks it will lead to it.”

“That's ridiculous! All Chris and I do together is working and it will never be anything else!”

“Well, when you talk to Sherlock, if he is up to that at all – better don't call him _ridiculous_. That wouldn’t go over well.”

“I know and I didn’t mean that.” Mycroft sighed deeply. “I can't blame him for being upset with me. I said some things that were really not very smart. But then he knows that this job is not a nine-to-five thing and that I can't just be with him as much as I want to. I do try!”

“I know, Mycroft, and so does he. But jealousy is nothing rational. And he is very hurt. Be gentle with him.”

Mycroft nodded. “Of course. He won't make it easy for me though.”

“When has dealing with Sherlock ever been easy?”

The politician didn’t want it to sound as if Sherlock was always like this to him. “I wouldn’t say that – there are times…” He broke off when John held up his hands.

“No! Too much information!” the shorter man said in playful protest.

Mycroft couldn’t help but smiling but it faded very quickly. “Sorry, John. And thank you for letting me know he's here.”

“He asked me not to do it. Well… I'm a rebel. Now go and try to make it better. But he got at my throat as well when we talked so be prepared.”

“Yes. You have to be prepared for everything with him.”

“And somehow I think there is a sexual connotation to this as well. Good luck, boy.”

“Boy?”

John just grinned and then pointed at Sherlock's bedroom door with narrowed eyes.

Mycroft shrugged and slowly walked over.

*****

Sherlock was lying on his bed, fully clothed; he hadn't even bothered with taking off his shoes.

He had tried to retreat into his mind palace but all he could see was the picture of his brother behind his desk and this gorgeous young man next to him.

He'd had a long time for calming down but the rage of the moment when he had left Mycroft's office had only been replaced by a deeper pain and then by resignation and hopelessness and then a new string of pain.

Lying there for hours, he had dozed off a couple of times, just to be woken up by his aching heart.

And now he was waiting for the knock at the door. He had heard the voices of John and Mycroft in the corridor; he hadn't understood what they were saying but it didn’t matter – of course the subject could only be him – the brat, the idiot…

His voice sounded raspy when he said, “Come in” after the expected quiet knock.

“Hey,” Mycroft said when he had made a step into the room.

“Hey,” Sherlock mumbled, hardly able to look into his brother's eyes.

Mycroft's gaze flickered to Sherlock's phone that was lying on his nightstand. “Anything wrong with it?” he quietly asked, his tone between hurt, caution and a strangely sad sort of tease.

“It's off,” Sherlock said.

Mycroft nodded and made another step. “May I come closer?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock wasn't sure how he was feeling now. Less numb obviously. Craving for being in his brother's arms. Hurt. Pissed off…

Mycroft took the chair Sherlock usually threw his clothes on (now it was empty as he was still fully dressed) and brought it to the bed. He sat down and leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs. “I'm sorry, Lock, for the stupid things I said and almost said. I'm very, very sorry that I've been neglecting you like this, and even more sorry that I'll have to go on doing that for two more weeks. But I'm not sorry for me and Chris…”

Sherlock cringed.

“…because there's absolutely nothing between us except for him being my PA! He's my current Anthea! Just imagine him three heads smaller and having breasts!”

Sherlock's lips twitched but then he remembered the male beauty standing next to Mycroft. “I can't… He's awesome…”

“And even if I had any interest in him, which I do not, do you really think he would waste a thought on getting _me_ laid?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “So you're basically saying that you are not attractive so a man like him would never want anything from you? Which means only some ugly rat like me would?”

Mycroft gasped. “Sherlock, I did not mean that!”

Sherlock knew that of course. But it had not been a very smart thing to say… And Mycroft seemed to realise that as well.

“Sorry, Lock, I'm sorry for everything. But it kills me that you seriously think I would cheat on you or leave you. I would never do that! I want you and nobody else. Really thought that would be clear…”

“You wouldn’t have to hide _him_ …” Sherlock mumbled.

“What?”

“If he was your lover, you could show it to the world.”

“I do not care for the _world_ , Sherlock! Goldfishes, remember? Why would I need their approval?! Of course we have to hide what we have as it is against a very stupid law but you can't really think I would drop you so I could walk hand in hand with someone else! Not even mentioning how ridiculous that would be for me.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but smiling at the picture of his distinguished older brother taken by the hand in public - even though the sheer thought of Mycroft walking hand in hand with somebody else, let alone Chris, made him sick.

Mycroft was sitting next to him on the bed a second later. “Lock, listen. I know my job is a pain in the arse for you and believe me – it is often enough for me as well, and it most definitely is right now. I know I promised you to make more time for us but with this forsaken visit from the president I just can't. But that doesn't mean I love you any less and don't want to be with you. I love you, Lock, you, not Chris, not Anthea, not anybody else. It's you or it's nobody.”

His last sentence had sounded so hurt and desperate that Sherlock couldn’t hold back anymore. He slung his arms around Mycroft's neck and kissed him fiercely, which was returned at once. The kiss was frantic and needy from both sides, and very soon Sherlock was fumbling with Mycroft's tie.

“John…?” Mycroft mumbled but his breathing was fast and Sherlock could feel his erection against his arm.

“Should close up his ears,” Sherlock mumbled back and smiled into Mycroft's chuckle. And it didn’t take them long to be both naked and very tactile.

*****

Mycroft had never felt a greater urge to be in Sherlock, to enwrap him in his love and desire and show him, no, _prove_ him that it was him and him alone. His mouth and hands were all over his brother, caressing, touching, stroking and bringing as much pleasure as he could. And then his cock was enveloped in sticky, hot tightness while two large hands were sliding over his back. He sank in further, very careful to not hurt his lover, and then he claimed Sherlock's wonderful mouth in a deep, loving kiss while he started thrusting into him deeper and deeper.

And all this time he couldn’t shake off the fear that nothing was really good between them.

He could read Sherlock like an open book and damn was he mad at himself for missing the point for so long. Why had he not seen his jealousy and insecurity? Probably because he had been too bloody busy to notice. Or too convinced that Sherlock knew how silly it was to even consider Mycroft cheating on him or leaving him for someone else. Mycroft may be the smart one (even though he didn’t feel very smart at all right now) but he was certainly not the handsome one. If one of them had a reason to be jealous, it was him, not Sherlock. But he should have known feelings didn’t work like this. But then – what the hell did he really know about feelings, even Sherlock's?

He loved his brother, oh yes. But it seemed that he didn’t really understand his soul and it bothered him to no end.

Because what he could read now was that Sherlock wanted to believe him but deep inside he couldn’t. He had seen him and Chris together in a perfectly innocent situation and now he was picturing his PA as a threat, as a man that would be a better match for Mycroft than he was, just because he wouldn’t have to lie about this relationship to anybody and because he was a handsome specimen – something that Mycroft had noticed of course but didn’t care about at all. He loved Sherlock and Sherlock was, in his own unique way, much more beautiful to him than anyone else, including Chris Hamdon.

And he had no idea how to really shush these fears out of his man's heart. He was making and would make love to him as well and as often as he could, he would make more time, no matter what but what if this didn’t help, either? What if the doubt was stronger than Sherlock's trust? He didn’t even want to imagine.

“Love me, Mycie,” Sherlock mumbled. “Don't think now.”

Mycroft did his best but he was afraid he had stopped thinking way too long ago.

He feared he had been too confident, had taken his little brother and great love for granted and he wasn’t. Sherlock was the most precious thing in his life; he was a gift and the only one for him and he couldn’t lose him.

His thrusts got harder and deeper, he mumbled words of love into Sherlock's ear while he was taking him and filling him up, but when he came in him and then lowered his body carefully on him to cover him and be held by him, he could feel that the distance had not disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

“So, today's the big day, right?”

“Huh?”

“The president of the United States is coming today,” John explained slowly, sounding as if he was talking to an imbecile.

Sherlock grumbled something like _why should that bother me_ …

John sighed. “Which means from tomorrow on Mycroft will have lots more time for you.”

Sherlock shrugged. Would he really? Did it still matter? Anthea was still not back…

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't still be upset because of that! And don't tell me you're still jealous of his bloody PA!”

Sherlock sighed. “I don't know, John. It's not the same between us since he's shown up…”

“Yes, because you give your brother one hell of a time because of that.”

“I don't! I don't say anything about him.”

Now John sighed. “You know – you don't have to actually _say_ anything. Your sulking is completely sufficient…”

“I do not sulk!”

“Of course you do! You're the king of sulking! And I don't see why you are doing it now!”

“John, let it be. You don't understand and you are annoying me.”

“Oh, sorry! I just wanted to help!”

“Nagging is not helping!”

“Boys, what is going on here?”

Both of them winced, and then Mrs Hudson stormed into the living room and put a tray rather roughly onto the table.

She crossed her arms. “Which of you want to tell me what the problem is? I could hear you in my flat!”

Both men stayed silent. Sherlock stared at his hands on his thighs.

“Well?” she insisted.

“Everything's fine, Mrs Hudson,” John finally said.

The old lady snorted. “Yes, it really sounded like that. Tea, anyone?”

“Yes, please.”

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sherlock mumbled and tried to smile.

His landlady's glare bored into his eyes and then she filled their mugs.

Sherlock took his one into his hands and held onto it as if his life depended on it.

*****

Mycroft caught Chris looking around cautiously. The big man obviously didn’t really like the open space around them. Neither did Mycroft. Why did the two statesmen have to shake hands on Trafalgar Square? This areal was a nightmare to look over. Mycroft knew there were police and secret service agents all over, not even mentioning the people the president had brought with him, all dressed in black and looking important. But still… It felt way too exposed. Half of the London population seemed to have shown up. And he knew what they were thinking about the president…

The PM had insisted on Mycroft coming to the ceremony. _“You will not let me go there alone, Holmes!”_ he had said in his usual annoying tone. So Mycroft was standing a few metres apart from the two mighty men, wearing sunglasses and trying to look as if he wasn’t there. He didn’t want to see his face in the newspapers or the internet.

Nobody was paying attention to him anyway, but he could see a lot of longing looks on his PA. Not that he blamed them – Chris was a sight.

Pictures of the two leaders were taken constantly and a lot of smartphones were directed at them, and Mycroft knew he would appear in some YouTube-clips if he wanted or not. At least the public didn’t know his name.

First the PM said some big words about how much of an honour it was to be graced with the visit by the leader of the world, and then the red faced president started to talk, completely untouched by people booing at him.

“Get down!” someone screamed at once – one of the president's team.

Mycroft whirled around, seeing the president and the PM getting covered by men dressed in black, and then he heard the noise of a shot and he was grabbed and pushed to the ground and a heavy body was thrown onto him. He felt like getting crushed and for a moment, the world turned black.

*****

“So you have a confession. Why do you need me then?”

“It sucks, Sherlock,” Greg Lestrade said. “Look at the body! And the wall! More than two dozen bullets, most of them missed their goal. Looks like luck that he hit the man at all. A soldier would have needed only one shot. What do you say, John?”

The doctor nodded. “Yeah, definitely. He wants to protect his mother. Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked at the body on the floor. The face was hardly recognisable anymore. It was a bloodbath to say the least. “So not a happy marriage?”

“Not really, no. Neighbours said he was violent against her many times. The son doesn't live here anymore. He said he came home and caught his father getting at his mum and he tried to interfere but then his father turned against him and in the end he couldn’t endure it anymore and shot him.”

“She did it,” John said. “No soldier would shoot so badly.”

Sherlock walked around the corpse. He was happy he had something to focus on. Everything to not have to think about Mycroft… “What's the son doing?”

“Ah, not much. Had a lot of jobs and lots of high hopes that never paid out.”

“Well, arrest him, if you haven't already. It was him. You will find out that he asked his father for money but he didn’t want to give it to him. I'm sure he owes some nasty people more than a bit of cash. So he and his mother made a nice plan to take him out, figuring the police would think it was her and that she wouldn’t have to face jail for it or at least not for very long as he'd manhandled her all the time.”

“But why didn’t she just say it was self-defence?”

“They wanted to be clever. Doesn’t work with stupid people. And after all he was killed with the son's weapon. Would have looked like planned anyway.”

Lestrade shook his head. “Amazing!” His phone vibrated and he took it out. “Fuck! They shot at the US president right at Trafalgar Square!”

Sherlock paled and John gasped beside him. “What? Was someone killed?” Sherlock hissed.

“The president is fine, his bodyguards…”

“I don't give a fuck for the president! My brother was there!” And he had not texted him…

“Oh… Let me find out.”

John laid his hand on Sherlock's arm. “He'll be fine, Sherlock.”

But what if not? What if… And Sherlock remembered how he had reacted to Mycroft telling him he loved him the day before, the last time he had seen him. He had mumbled, _“same here”_ and Mycroft had looked as if he was about to cry…

*****

Mycroft stumbled into his office and let himself drop onto his chair. “Be right back!” Chris assured him. “You need some more water.”

Mycroft sighed. “I guess so.” And he needed a new phone… When Chris had pushed him onto the ground, covering his body with his own, it had been destroyed.

It had been a mess. Nobody knew where the shooter had been hiding. He had shot at the president three times and then had given it up. The secret service was on it of course. There had been a panic on the areal, people screaming and running for their lives. It had been horrible.

They had wanted to bring Mycroft to a hospital but he knew he wasn’t really injured, only bruised up a bit and his left ear was bleeding. But if Chris hadn't taken him down, he would probably be dead now.

He was shaken to the core, and he knew he had to call Sherlock. But right now he just couldn't…

“Here you go.” Chris handed him a glass with very cool water.

Mycroft thanked him and took a sip. “Thank you for what you did,” he rasped out then. “Without you…”

“I just did my job. And I can't let anyone shoot the biggest brain in the country, can I?”

Mycroft smiled at him and then his door was opened up.

“My!” His brother almost ran into the room.

“Lock!” Mycroft got up on still shaking legs.

And then Sherlock registered Chris and stopped dead. “I, um, heard about it. You're okay?”

“Yes. But my phone is broken, sorry, I'm sure you tried to contact me.”

“I did.” Sherlock made another step into the room and narrowed is eyes. “Fuck, your ear!”

“It's nothing, really. Chris threw me onto the ground when the first shot came.”

“I was so shocked that it took me a second to react,” Chris said apologetically.

“Without you…” Mycroft broke off and swallowed when he saw his brother pale and then bite his lip.

“I'm sure you have a lot to discuss now,” Sherlock said stiffly. “I'll better go then.”

“No! I mean… I think the PM will want to talk to me…”

“Yes, guess so. See you later then.”

“Yes.” _I love you, Sherlock. Why can't you see how much I love you?_

Sherlock nodded and smiled in a way that broke Mycroft's heart and then he was gone.

Mycroft stared at the door that had closed behind his lover until Chris cleared his throat. “Shall I get you a new phone while you're talking to the Prime Minister?”

“Oh. Yes, that would be great.” Mycroft searched for his credit card.

“I hope they'll pay for it.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that…  But don't worry – I can afford it.” He hardly knew what he was saying.

“You know… I hope you don't mind me saying that but… I think you deserve a few days off now. You've been hurt and you worked so much over the past weeks. You should really take some time off and… go somewhere nice…”

Mycroft looked over to him and realised that Chris knew about him and Sherlock. Probably since that first meeting where Sherlock had been so obviously jealous. Mycroft had been a fool not to notice it before. But all he could read in the younger man's blue eyes were compassion and friendliness. No judgement, no disgust.

He nodded. “You know what – that's exactly what I will do. Thank you.” He really should have thought of this himself…

Chris smiled. “No problem. I'm glad when I can help. You're a great boss. I'm going to miss you when your PA is back.” He blushed a little when he said it, but there was nothing fruity in his tone. He clearly didn’t mean it as an attempt at flirting.

And so Mycroft nodded. “Yes, me too.” It was true of course. Chris was a very good PA and a very pleasant man to be around, regardless of his stunning looks. But still he knew he had been better off with a female PA…


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock stumbled into his flat with a hanging head. All the way here the same thoughts had circled in his head.

_He doesn’t need me._

_He could have called me from his landline._

_I can never live up to Chris._

_I want to kill Chris._

_He doesn’t love me anymore._

_I need to get high._

He stopped when he saw a suitcase in the corridor. “John!”

“Yes?” The doctor came out of the living room with Rosie on his arm.

“You're not moving out, are you?”

“Nope. Not me.”

“What?!”

John smiled. “Sorry, couldn't resist. I packed a few things for you. A car will arrive in…” He looked at his watch, “five minutes. Will bring you to a helicopter.”

“And where will this helicopter bring me?”

“Mycroft didn’t say. Guess it's a surprise.”

“Mycroft?”

“Well, who else should send you a bloody helicopter? Do keep up.”

Probably Mycroft would send him to a desert island. Or to Sherrinford… He slowly walked into the living room, followed by John.

“Sherlock, whatever you're thinking – it's stupid! Relax. I'm sure a nice surprise is waiting for you.”

Sherlock let himself drop into his chair. “Why would it… It's over.”

“What? Are you fucking kidding me!” John put Rosie onto her blanket on the ground and grabbed Sherlock's shoulders. “Listen to me, Sherlock! I've watched you falling apart for weeks now and I won't let you do that any longer! If you want to hear that now or not: Mycroft loves you, you fucking git, and he sounded totally sad, as if he didn’t really believe you actually still want to be with him. So, Sherlock – do you want that or not?”

“Of course I do! But what does he need me for! This fucking Chris even saved his life today… I should have been there… But I can't! Because nobody may know it! He would be much happier with him than he's with me…”

“No, Sherlock, because he doesn’t _want_ anybody else! Because you are his one and only! He's the Iceman, Sherlock, he doesn’t give his heart to just anybody! No matter how difficult it is, no matter how much you two might struggle because of his bloody work and because nobody may know – it's worth it! Because how much more fucking romantic should it get! He who has everything to lose chooses to be with the least appropriate man he could have taken, and not because you are an insecure, jealous, frightened little boy deep inside under all this arrogance and _I'm-so-much-cleverer-than-you attitude_ but because you are his bloody brother! He risks it all and Sherlock – why would he do that if not because there is nobody else for him! This man might have saved his arse today but in the end that seems to be his job! And he may even like this guy but hell – I also like a lot of people and I don't want to be with anyone of them. I would do everything if I could only have Mary back and give Rosie her mother back and I'm not watching you throwing it all away because you can't stand being ignored and think he can't love you anymore just because his fucking assistant is the cutest man alive!”

“He's right.”

John and Sherlock shot up at the same time. Nobody else than Chris was standing in the door and if this hadn't been bad enough Mrs Hudson was right next to him.

“Fuck,” John mumbled and grabbed Sherlock's arm. “I'm sorry…”

Chris held up his hand. “No, please. It's okay. I know it.”

“Yes, Sherlock, don't fret your pretty head,” Mrs Hudson threw in. “Would anyone like some tea?”

“What?! You know it, too?”

“Of course I do, Sherlock. For months. I could see you were in love and I have to admit it took me some time but then… Who else should it be? Poor Miss Hooper? The grumpy Mr Lestrade? Certainly none of them, and to everybody else you are even nastier. I was a little upset that you didn’t tell me but well…”

“Oh God…” Sherlock let himself drop into his chair again.

“Listen, Mr Holmes. I'm just here to make sure you'll get into the car and then into the helicopter. Your brother is waiting for you. And he's not sure you would do it so I decided to come here and escort you to the car.”

There was a tiny threat in his voice but Sherlock didn’t mind. “So… You are okay with it? Him and me? And you… don't want him for yourself?”

Chris looked as if he was close to rolling his eyes. “Of course I do. I mean – I'm okay with it. Who am I to judge you? Your brother is a very special man and of course therefore he needs a very special partner. And I've read enough about you to know that that's exactly what you are. Great blog by the way, Doctor Watson.”

“Oh thanks! John, please!”

Chris smiled. “John. I'm Chris! And thanks for the part about the _cutest man alive_. Not that I'd think that about myself… And regarding your second question… Here…” He came closer to show Sherlock the display of his smartphone. A video was being played – a very handsome man in a blue shirt and tight blue jeans, with auburn, curly hair, very blue eyes and a smile to die for. “That's my boyfriend Tom. I do like your brother a lot, Mr Holmes and of course he is a very attractive man. But my heart is as taken as his one is.”

“Fuck… Sorry…” Sherlock looked down on his shoes.

“Don't be. This all can't be easy, for none of you. Will you come with me now?”

Sherlock nodded and then he surprised John with a crushing embrace. “Sorry, my friend,” he mumbled into the shorter man's hair.

John patted his back and smiled against his throat. “It's all fine, big git. Now go and enjoy.”

“I will.” And then Sherlock also embraced Mrs Hudson. “Sorry I didn’t trust you but I thought you hate my brother.”

“Oh, Sherlock, as long as he's good to you, I'm totally fine with it. I would never do anything to harm you.”

“I know.” And when Sherlock had let her go, he offered his hand to Mycroft's PA. “Thank you. For your patience and your tolerance and most of all for saving my man's life.”

Chris smiled widely and shook his hand firmly. “You're very welcome. And now let's go. Prepare for a full week of fun.”

“A week?!” How had Mycroft managed to get a week off of work, especially after the almost-disaster with the president?

“Yep. Your brother was very thorough. He might be on the phone from time to time but he agreed with the Prime Minister, Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin that they will take care of almost everything alone.”

“Sounds great to me.” Sherlock picked up his suitcase. “It's pretty light, John.”

“Well, I don't think you'll need too many clothes…”

And the Baker Street boys shared a big grin before Sherlock followed the handsome PA/ agent/ lifesaver out of the flat.

*****

Sherlock took a moment to take in the luxury of the suite. Paris, of all cities. The rooms were generous and posh to say the least. He crossed the huge living room and saw a floating curtain. A balcony. And on it, the back turned to the room, was Mycroft. Leaning against the rail, wearing black trousers and a simple white shirt.

Sherlock took off the cap he had found in the car, along with very expensive sunglasses that he had put onto a table after entering the room. There had also been a letter, briefly telling him that he was about to introduce himself as William Scott. Fitting, his two other first names.

He walked over to the balcony. “Hey.”

Mycroft turned around and his eyes looked cautious but joyful. “Hey, Lock. I'm so glad you came.”

And then Sherlock was in his arms, pressing him so tight that Mycroft gasped before he started to chuckle.

“Oh, dear, my love. Please don't ever believe again that I would drop you. I love you. I'm sorry for everything and I'm sorry you have to use a false name to be here with me. I wish it was different…”

“It's alright,” Sherlock mumbled against his ear. “I'm so sorry, too. I felt so… useless and I don't even really know why. I wasn’t only jealous…”

Mycroft pulled back and laid a palm onto his cheek. “Lock, you're never useless to me! You're my man and you'll always be. Tell me what I can do to convince you.”

Sherlock shrugged. “Don't think there is that much you can do. I know you have to work hard, and I know I must have seemed very childish to you. But maybe… maybe this darkness in me will never truly disappear.”

“Come in,” Mycroft whispered. Sherlock let his brother guide him to the huge, black couch, and they snuggled up on it. “That's okay, Lock, we have our characters and our pasts and they don't change and disappear so easily. I just want to make you happy but I fucked up and in all probability I will fuck up again because that's how my occupation is. But please – don't let it get you like this again. I was so worried and so scared I would lose you. And I just can't lose you.”

“It was all a bit too much I guess,” Sherlock mumbled, snuggling his face against his brother's neck. “Such little time we could spend together and then this god of a PA… He's very nice I have to say.”

Mycroft smiled. “Yes, he is. And he knows about us. Not very surprisingly…”

“Yeah, sorry. That wasn’t very reasonable. And still you came here with me. Sort of.”

“Well, I thought if I go first on my own, you'd rather follow me.”

“I bet the PM was not amused.”

“He never is. I didn’t take any holidays this year so he could hardly deny it. And they got the guy who shot at the president. A confused single perpetrator as it turned out. Walked out of the hotel he had been in with the gun in his hand. Said something about making the world a better place without this _monumental arse_ as he called him.”

“He does have a point,” Sherlock mumbled. Shame that he hadn't done a better job. But how easily he could have shot Mycroft instead. He didn’t even want to imagine…

Mycroft grinned. “I never said that but yes, he does.”

They smiled at each other, and Sherlock was overwhelmed by his love for the stressed out, pale, hurt, wonderful man he was allowed to call his lover and his big brother. “I love you,” he softly said and was rewarded by a tender kiss that turned passionate very quickly.

“As comfortable as this couch is – the bed is a lot better playground,” Mycroft suggested.

“Well, what are we waiting for? But do you feel well enough after Chris fell onto you?”

Mycroft eyed him closely but seemed to be content that he hadn't meant it in a sexual way. “I'm okay. You might have to do most of the work today but I'm sure I'll be as good as new tomorrow.” He stroked over Sherlock's hair.

“Fine with me. I'll kiss your bruises better. Oh, by the way – Mrs Hudson knows about us, too.”

Mycroft paled. “What?! Oh, fuck…”

“No, no, it's fine,” Sherlock hurried to assure him. “Really. She was just a bit pissed off that I didn’t tell her.”

“Amazing. We were very lucky, Lockie. They all accept us.”

They were indeed lucky with John, Greg, Chris and Sherlock's landlady being supportive and not shocked about their love, but Sherlock knew they couldn’t push it. Nobody else may find out about them.

Hand in hand they walked to the bedroom, and then Sherlock jumped on top of a huge waterbed and pulled his slightly sore brother all over himself carefully and then he claimed Mycroft's mouth in another deep, loving kiss, knowing he would never let him go.

 

The End


End file.
